


What's Yours Is Mine

by squarephoenix



Series: A Thief in the Night [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Big hero 6 reference, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Dialogue Heavy, Erica and Stiles are rivals, Explicit Language, Goodbye Sex, Hurt Derek, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Dancing, Stiles is bad at dancing, Stiles is terrible at undercover identities, Thief Stiles Stilinski, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squarephoenix/pseuds/squarephoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following immediately after the night of discovering that werewolves do exist and that multi-millionaire playboy, Derek Hale, is one of them. Stiles makes a deal to keep the identities of the werewolves under Derek Hale's protection a continued secret. But since the night Stiles has met Derek nothing has gone according to plan, will this deal go through without a hitch? Or will there be another blunder to correct?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep your friends close

**Author's Note:**

> Finally the continuation is here. Hopefully I can finish by the new year buuuuttttt...I won't make any promises.
> 
> Warning - There is a Jackson/Stiles sex scene in the beginning of this story but it is foremost a Sterek story. Actually, I wasn't even sure to include it or imply it and whether including it hurts the story. So if you think it sucks let me know and I'll edit it out.
> 
> Oh, I don't think I mentioned in the first story: when Stiles copied the whereabouts of the werewolves protected by Derek on the USB drive he also deleted the info off of the servers. So Stiles now has the only copy.
> 
> Enjoy. As always criticism is welcomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the continuation is here. Hopefully I can finish by the new year buuuuttttt...I won't make any promises.  
> There is some Jackson/Stiles in the beginning of this story but it is foremost a Sterek story.  
> Oh, I don't think I mentioned in the first story: when Stiles copied the whereabouts of the werewolves protected by Derek on the USB drive he also deleted the info off of the servers. So Stiles now has the only copy.  
> Enjoy. As always criticism is welcomed.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Jackson's loud exclamation reverberated throughout the living room of Stiles' apartment. Luckily, one of the benefits of living where Stiles resided, on the border of the bad side of the city, was a lack of interest in the yelling matches of neighbors. Loud vocal disagreements were a daily occurrence in his apartment building and neighborhood.

“Dude, did you not hear the part where we make double what we would have gotten with the Argents? Double. That’s this many if it's too high a number to conceive,” Stiles held two fingers in front of Jackson’s face before having it smacked away.

“I don't care, Stilinski.” Using Stiles’ last name was never a good sign with Jackson. Stiles braced himself for this conversation to go on for a while. He really thought the business savvy guy would appreciate the lucrative change in circumstances. “We had an arrangement with the Argents and we have to uphold our end. You don't screw over these people without consequences.”

Stiles had to admit the thought never crossed his mind, Danny’s pensive look spoke the same for him. In Stiles’ defense, he did learn the existence of werewolves - something that would cause anyone to not think at 100%. However, Danny didn’t have the same excuse, so maybe he should share in the scolding too.

“Okay...then we'll give them a bit of compensation for backing out of our deal. We have enough money to offer something to them.” Stiles compromised.

“Yep, but nothing too overboard. It's not like they paid us upfront.” Danny added.

“That's not the point. I'm trying to get on their good side for future business. Just because the two of you are slinking away with your balls between your legs doesn't mean I don't want build something more. And the Argents are part of my plan, they have the connections I need. It's the least you can do after abandoning me.” Jackson argued, staring vehemently at his former partners.

Stiles scrunched his brows at the logic in Jackson’s last statement. “The least we could do? After the last gig, you're lucky we even bothered working with you again. The Calaveras had us smuggling harvested organs across the border. We never signed up for some shit like that.” By the time Stiles and Danny had found out, it was too late to go to the authorities without being charged as accessories. “And from what Der-- what Hale said, the Argents would have used the info we stole to hunt down innocent people.”

“So, what...you trust this guy you've known for less than half an hour?” Jackson huffs out a hollow sounding laugh. “I thought you were smarter than that, Stilinski.”

“I'm smart enough to know a good deal when I see one. And when to walk away from a fire before I get burned. God, I don't understand why you want to keep this lifestyle anymore.”

“Jackson, you should quit with us. We made it this far successfully because we had each other's backs. Who are you going to rely on now to have yours?” Danny said softly, trying to reason with his best friend. Danny knew it was like talking to a brick wall but he had to make an effort, if there was a slight chance he would be heard.

“Myself. It's all I need anyway.” Jackson answered back.

Stiles peered out the curtain of living room window, the bright sunlight eased the urge to smack some sense into his opposing partner. “Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts.”

“You will, Stilinski. Once I smooth things over with the Argents I'll be able to branch out from these lame data heists and get into where the real money is: Weapons, Drugs, Vehicles. The two of you will have enough to pay off some measly debts and have some cash to tide you over for a couple of years, then what? I can be set for life.” A chuckle seeps from Jackson’s throat. “Maybe instead of getting me to join your loser path, you both should reconsider and come back with me. You were right about us working well together. Don’t be stupid.”

“Not a chance, man.” Stiles quickly responded, not relenting from his stance in the slightest.

“Ditto, we've seen the type of people who you're trying to hop into bed with, Jackson. Me and Stiles can see with clarity the direction that path will take you. And it’s not a pretty one.” Danny imparted his sage remarks to his best friend.

“Then you both need glasses.” Jackson said sharply.

Stiles was fed up and closed the curtain with more force than necessary, turning back to the group. “You know what, we're going in circles here. The deal is with Hale now. Continue to bitch about it or get on board.”

“Two to one, bro, you lose.” Danny concurred.

“Fine...fucking short sighted idiots.” Jackson finally let go and accepted the new arrangement.

“Thank you. Later guys, call me when lobby guy gets in touch.” Danny winked to Stiles at the inside joke. “Jackson, seriously think it over...we do care about you and don’t want to see you hurt. Stiles, try to talk some sense into him, please.”

Jackson and Stiles say their goodbyes to the tech genius of their group, their officially defunct group. The two men stood standoffishly in the middle of the living room staring at each other after their friend's departure.

"So...do you want to argue some more or is this where we part ways?" Stiles asked with his hands in his pocket to keep from scratching various parts of his head and neck, a trait Stiles performed when he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Is there a third option?" Jackson warmed his features, banishing his scowl, and wore a salacious smirk as Stiles huffed out a surprised laugh. With the way Jackson was staring daggers at him earlier, Stiles assumed Jackson was planning on staying mad at him for the foreseeable future.

"Sorry, but the third option is no longer on the table." Knowing full well what the man standing across from him meant.

"How about on the bed then...for old time's sake?" Jackson responded as he moved closer to Stiles who stayed rooted in position with arms crossed in front of his chest, a weak attempt to deter any advances from Jackson. The attempt was unsuccessful as the distance between the two men vanished completely, Jackson stroking the sides of Stiles’ tense arms and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t hear a ‘no’.”

Stiles cursed himself and gave in to a kiss, mild and testing. Old feelings resurged within Stiles, remembering times in the past after a successful mission. Sex always felt like the only way for Stiles and Jackson to express anything for each other without sniping and insulting each other. He dropped his arms to cupped the side of Jackson’s face, intensifying the kiss.

Soon, all Stiles could think of was the lack of a prickly sensation on the edge of his lips when they brushed against Jackson's clean shaven face. The lack of differing height, however slight, when he didn't need to tilt his head upward to engage a lip locking battle. The missing smell of manly musk and leather as he pressed his body against Jackson. There was no mix of green and hazel looking back from the blue eyes in front of him when Jackson pulled back and led them to his small bedroom.

Suddenly, the rising desire he felt started to wane and Stiles knew clearly why that was happening. He wasn't kissing Derek. That's not to say he wasn't enjoying himself, or rather enjoying Jackson. He'd have to be dead not to enjoy the stunning specimen holding his biceps, leading him to his bedroom. Plus, Jackson was doing his, what Stiles called, model face where his bottom lip plumped out begging to be sucked and nipped, or placed around Stiles' steadily growing erection. Besides, what did it matter if he'd rather be with Derek Hale right now than Jackson. Stiles and Derek had a business arrangement, nothing more than an exchange of desired items would commence between the two. Although, Stiles thought their meeting in the lobby wouldn't have been able to lead to anything and an hour or so later he knew how satisfying a scruffy beard felt during a kiss. Or how he really enjoyed having his ass grabbed.

When Stiles' wrist was grabbed to lead him further to the bed, he flinched and jerked his hand back to release himself from Jackson. Stiles showed Jackson the reason of the adverse reaction to erase the confusion on Jackson’s face. “The night didn’t go as smoothly as I let on.”

“You still trust him after this?” Jackson asked as he inspected the bruised wrist by rolling back the sleeve of Stiles’ flannel shirt.

“What can I say - I wasn’t exactly an innocent party in the situation, dude. Besides, if you knew what he was really capable of then you’d know this,” shakes his forearm, “was him being nice.”

“That isn’t as comforting as you’re trying to make it sound.”

Stiles silenced Jackson’s returning protests about Derek by running his fingers through Jackson’s stylish coif and exploring his mouth with a distracting tongue.

Shortly after, the kiss ended as Jackson pushed Stiles’ pants down to his ankles and then Stiles' body down on the bed. Stiles was startled by Jackson's swift action when he dropped down his knees and plummeting a warm, wet mouth over Stiles half hard dick. Even though Stiles never complained, he and Jackson had a give and take transaction in the bedroom, respectively. Stiles stopped wondering why the change now when the slit of his full erection was met with the lapping of Jackson's tongue. For a guy who didn't offer head often, Jackson had some decent skills. Jackson stopped teasing the tip and engulfed as much of the hard cock with gusto. Stiles’ position on his elbows, watching Jackson give his undivided attention to Stiles, crumpled as Stiles fell on his back staring at the ceiling. Drifting thoughts of Derek edged at the back of his mind.

“Fuck, Jackson.” Stiles sighed out heavily, careful to remember exactly who was giving him his pleasure. His night with Derek left him horny and frustrated with only a small morsel to satiate his desire for the werewolf. He wished he done more, touched more of Derek. Stiles internally cursed himself for continuing to think of Derek Hale while with the gorgeous, widely sought after Jackson Whittemore of Stiles' hometown.

Jackson kept his cheeks hollowed and bobbed with eager suction. The steady rhythm felt so damn good that Stiles had to bite on his hand to keep the string of curse words wanting to erupt from his grateful mouth, preventing his neighbors to hear what he was up to through the thin walls. “Jackson, shit...I'm gonna cum soon.”

Jackson removed his mouth causing an obscene popping noise straight from a porn. “Good I want you to cum.” Stiles had his drooled-over shaft stroked by Jackson’s firm hand. “Gonna make you cum all over yourself.” Jackson panted out. After his shirt was hiked up over his neck, Jackson made well on his panting promise with several fast tugs. Stiles grunted and writhed his legs in what looked like a violent seizure. Stiles’ eyelids were shut tight as streams of white were released from his pleasured dick painting his abs.

Stiles was confused at the feel of more hot, thick wetness raining on his chest after he was drained. He opened his eyes to see Jackson standing over him pumping his beautifully abused cock. Stiles felt a twinge of disappointment at not being able to be the one to bring about Jackson's release. “Now go clean yourself up, Stiles.” Jackson smirked as he leaned down to smear his seed around on Stiles' chest, playing with the cooling cum left on Stiles’ body and emphasising the need for a shower.

Jackson had never volunteered to go down on Stiles with no reciprocation before. Maybe, this being their last time together before separating was the reason behind it.

=*=*=*=

"Care to join me?" Stiles asked after he stepped into the warm spray streaming behind the shower curtain.

“Tempting, but I have a party to get ready for. Some important clients to meet.” Jackson declined, tying his sneakers as he sat on the edge of the toilet seat.

Stiles swallowed his concerned words, not wanting to bring up how different Jackson has been acting lately and the sketchy people he was beginning to associate himself with. If they could end things like this: a good time with a good friend, Stiles would be happy. And he would hope Jackson wouldn't do anything stupid as he continued the life Stiles would be signing off from permanently.

Stiles’ head peeked out of the shower curtains to keep talking to Jackson, maintaining his stance to keep things light. "Anything to avoid cleaning up, huh?"

"You know me so well." Jackson responded, standing up completely dressed. "Hey, Stiles?" Trying to gain Stiles’ attention after the thief disappeared under the warm spray .

“Still here, Jackson. I didn't wash away down the drain.”

The shower curtain slid slightly with Jackson's head peeking through. Stiles looked behind him when he heard the metal rings on the curtain rod clink together. "Just couldn't stay away, huh, can't say I blame you." Stiles beamed, wiping away water from his face to see Jackson more accurately.

"Um, I --" Jackson his voice cracked as he ducked his head eyes focused downward, not sounding or looking his usual cocky self. Stiles assumed Jackson was looking at his body but upon closer inspection Jackson was just avoiding looking Stiles in the face. "I wanted to say that -- I wish you luck with...whatever the hell you plan on doing. It was...it was a great time working with you...and Danny. I couldn't have asked for better partners...or friends." Jackson awkwardly cleared his throat, not used to being so vulnerable.

Stiles could barely feel the hot water hitting his back or droplets falling into his eyes. Jackson was actually admitting not only were they friends, but that he cared about him.

"Promise you'll take care for yourself and don't do anything stupid." Jackson finally looked up and nodded obediently. "I hope you find what you're looking for." Stiles leaned forward and pressed a warm, water soaked hand to the side of Jackson's cheek and kissed him chastely on the lips as a goodbye, hoping to convey that they did mean something to each other.

Jackson made his way out of the bathroom and out of Stiles' life to start his own journey. Stiles prayed silently that it wouldn't be a short one. Maybe he should have done more, said more, fought more. But he wasn't Jackson's keeper. Jackson was dead set on doing things his way, that much was clear.

=*=*=*=

The sun was beginning to set when Stiles stepped out the bathroom connected to his bedroom, wrapped in a towel. He had an extra towel currently being used to dry his hair, rubbing vigorously to rid himself of any moisture, while he blindly made his way to the dresser on the other side of the room. It was easily accomplished with the layout of his small living space memorized, a trait honed during his career as a burglar.  As he set aside his hair drying towel and opened the front of the towel around his waist, about to drop it for an air dry, a throat cleared itself from behind Stiles.

Stiles clenched his barrier protecting his nudity quickly with one hand, grabbed the stun gun he kept concealed in the dresser with the other hand and twirled to aim at the previously unseen intruder. "Mother of God!" Stiles exclaimed when he set his vision on the face with the intruder. "Derek?!” Stiles sputtered indignantly. “Are you trying to kill me...again! When I gave you my name I expected you to call or at least use the front door, jeez."

“You broke into my place, I figured I would return the favor." Derek retorted plainly, defending his action.

"Oh my God, that was so last night! Quit living in the past, dude." The weapon made a heavy thud on the dresser after Stiles abandoned it to resume his search for clean underwear, leaving Derek to stare at his backside. Once Stiles found the item he sought amidst the wreckage of his poorly organized drawer, he stared into the reflection of the mirror on top of the dresser to find the werewolf in a trance, enthralled by the area around the waist of the thief.

“I know you're paying a lot for my services,” Derek meets Stiles' eyes in the mirror after hearing the thief's voice, breaking him from his reverie. “But a strip show...wasn't really part of the arrangement. Though I might be willing to reconsider."

“I’m just trying to wrap my brain around how that managed to one up me last night.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” Stiles cocked a hip and splayed his fingers over the edge of his pelvis, drumming the sides and drawing Derek’s down to the well toned body. He was lanky, sure. But there wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t show how defined his muscles were.  “This is pretty damn impressive, thank you very much.” Cut abs, strong shoulders, and sinewy arms attested to that. Plus, Jackson was a fan and that dude was totally in love with himself.

Derek rolls his eyes and turns around to give Stiles some privacy. When Derek hears the towel drop he sneaks a lingering peak and smirks after turning his head around before Stiles has the chance to notice.

“Not judging but isn’t that exactly what you wore last night?” Stiles observed at the leather clad werewolf in dark clothing.

“Coming from the grown man in Spider-Man boxer-briefs?” Derek shot back with judge-y eyes, judge-y with traces of carnal desire.

“Hey, I’m a kid at heart.” Stiles threw on an well worn, loose fitting t-shirt.

“So, do you have a big, fat, oversized check for me like on a gameshow?” Stiles pondered jokingly, as he led Derek to his hiding spot to give back the drive.

“Sure, Stiles. Let me just pull the enormous check out of my back pocket.” Derek deadpanned. “We’re doing a wire transfer, all I need is a bank account to send it to.”

Stiles gave a grimace of pain when he tried to shimmy the refrigerator out of its rooted spot in the kitchen, nestled between a wall and counter. The excursion was too much for his sprained wrist to handle.

Derek pointedly looks in silence at Stiles' bruise purple-ish wrist with his hand stretched out, expecting Stiles to understand his request. When the injured wrist is held in Derek’s grasp, a gentle squeeze from Derek begins black colored veins traveling up his arm. Stiles stares in wonderment at the dissipating pain from his injury. The top of Derek’s hand drops leaving Stiles’ hand cradled in his other. If Stiles was staring in wonderment before, he couldn’t imagine how he was looking now. The bruised purple-ish colored wrist was now its normal coloring. With a short circular rotation of his hand, Stiles gave a breathy, short laugh at the fully healed appendage.

“Are you satisfied with your care?” One corner of Derek’s mouth rose as he asked, his amused expression contrasting with his plain tone.

Stiles squinted his eyes at Derek, forgetting about the extraordinary powers of the werewolf to focus on an equally, if not more, surprise. “You’re not quoting -- Oh my God you are. You freakin’ quoted Big Hero 6! Aren’t you full of surprises…”

“Some of the kids of the families I helped loved watching that movie...over and over. The few times they were injured with minor wounds I could help heal, ones they couldn’t heal yet because of their young age -- it usually brought a smile to their face and distracted them...from the thoughts of being hunted.” Derek reveals.

It was crazy to fathom the idea of kids and families being ripped out their homes and lives because they happened to be born different. And Stiles was so close to helping the people, the hunters, doing these heinous actions.

“Step aside, I’ll move it for you.” Derek offers softly, needing a reason to opt out of the eye staring contest the two are entwined in.

“Um, Derek. I hope you know I would have never gone through with this whole mess if I had known.” Stiles scratches the back of his neck as he apologizes about the whole mess to Derek, watching as Derek moves the fridge with ease.  A demonstration of the werewolf's impressive strength despite the muscular build of Derek.

Derek looked back to see Stiles with a look of affinity that was mirrored on his own face. “I know, Stiles.”

Stiles uncovered a small case behind the loose, square tile on the backsplash of the wall previously refrigerator that Derek removed. When he opened the case expecting to find the USB drive instead saw a folded paper.

"Oh crapballs." Stiles lowly voiced after reading the contents of the letter.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Global warming, world hunger, my dad's eating habits. But at this current moment I would say,” Stiles breathes deeply and marathons through his next statement, “My business partner has decided to steal your drive and sell it to the original buyer." Crumpling the note promising that Jackson would still pay Stiles and Danny for their services. "Goddamn idiot." Stiles didn't know whether he was talking about Jackson or himself. Maybe both. He knew Jackson’s rapid mood change was odd but chalked it up to nostalgia of what they shared. It seems Stiles was the only one living in the past.

Derek punched a hole through the wall, effectively shattering Stiles’ train of thought along with the wall separating the closet from the kitchen.

"Add the damages to my 250 thousand dollar tab that you won't be receiving. I should have known trusting you was a bad idea." Derek’s features began to shift as he fought a raging battle inside to control his wolf from lashing out anymore. He trained himself to keep constant control but the thought of so many innocent lives in danger because he trusted this stranger so easily, so carelessly… It made him furious with himself.

“Derek?” Stiles against his better judgment slowly placed a hand on Derek’s bicep.

“What did you even think you were stealing!?” Even though Derek was shouting at Stiles, apparently a recurring theme in Stiles’ day, Derek’s red glowing eyes transitioned to green and hazel with his human face winning over his werewolf’s.

“I dunno. Corporate secrets...blueprints...cookie recipes?”

Stiles’ hand was shrugged off of Derek as the werewolf stared at him in exasperation. “Can you please take this seriously!”

“I get it, I get it. Danger for everyone on the list.”

“That's putting it mildly, this is a potential hit list I’m dealing with. And you have -- correction: you had the only copy. I can’t even warn them they’re in danger.”

“Hey, I'm totally on board to fix this. This is what I do best, I adapt when the need calls for it. I know this looks bad but--"

"No, this looks like a giant shit storm! If that list gets to the Argents..."

"But we still have time to fix it. And we will. Okay,” Stiles promises as he paces around the room. "The deal doesn't happen for a couple hours or so. I'll just intercept Ja -- my partner,” Stiles was somewhat afraid of what Derek would do to Jackson if his name was revealed, “before he hands the package over.”

Stiles tries to call Jackson in a futile attempt to reach him before the dropoff commenced. “No answer. Okay, I expected that.” Stiles says when no one picks up. “Bee tee dubs, he was the only one who knew how to get in contact with the Argents. Please don’t hit my walls again...or me.”

“Please don't make me regret not strangling you when I had the chance.” Derek said through a clenched jaw.

“Not helpful, dude. Okay, we’re in a kitchen let me cook up a plan.” Stiles begins brainstorming out loud, Derek feels mildly calmed listening to Stiles’ musings - knowing the thief is doing his best to rectify the distressing situation. Although Derek is riddled with anxiety over the situation, somewhere in the back of his mind Derek knows Stiles will come through.

“My partner usually sets up any final exchanges at parties or openings. High profile events. You know, the kind where only people with connections can get into. It's a safeguard to make sure the people who pay us can, like, actually pay us. And it’s public, so you know less chance of a double cross or something.” Stiles races to the newspaper on the coffee table in the living room to scour the pages for special events.

"Hm, I think we can safely rule out the 10th annual dog show. Well, maybe not. Aroo!” Stiles tries to lighten the mood with a poor excuse of a howl. “Tough crowd, ahem.” Stiles says when Derek rolls his eyes. Why does Derek have faith in this idiot again? Derek leans against the back of the couch Stiles is sitting on and feels something crinkle in his back pocket. Derek wonders how could he forget he had this then remembers exactly why. And the reason is right behind him.

“It’s The Beacon City’s Entrepreneurs Of Tomorrow Gala." Derek supplies as an answer rather than a question for a possible rendezvous, not even looking at the newspaper.

"Yeah, that's it." Stiles confirms after viewing the full page advertisement of the event held tonight. "Looks really exclusive too, I don't know if I can get us in on such short notice. Maybe a waiter gig?" Rambling to himself as he deduces the best way to gain entry. “Bodyguard, valet, janitor, performance…”

“Stiles.” Derek tries to interrupt.

“Shush, big guy. I’m thinking… Okay I’ve got an idea. But the question is where can I find some roller blades, expired eggs, and helium at this hour?”

A invitational card is harshly shoved in Stiles’ chest, freezing the trickling thoughts of the thief. “What's your damage?” Stiles looks at the paper. "Oh well...that would work too." An invitation for Derek Hale and a guest to attend gala for tonight.

_Derek Hale, the multi-millionaire entrepreneur. Duh, Stiles._

"So, the real question now is - do you have anything to wear tonight, guest?" Derek asks.

 

 


	2. A Red Bowtie and a Black Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to put Stiles in a bowtie after seeing this picture: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/1f/fd/791ffd037a89e70742e6e17fb9f657c7.jpg

Derek stands outside of the building where glamorously dressed individuals file in the building while having their pictures taken for entertainment section in the papers. He had made an arrangement to meet Stiles here instead of traveling together for the two men to prepare for the night’s festivities. 

In a manner of minutes of Derek’s arrival, Stiles was escorted out of a black vehicle Derek recognized from the night. “Thanks, Akemi.”

“You sure you're fine handling this on your own? I can take a later flight.” Danny tried to offer, already shot down during the drive. Stiles needed to look the part so he asked Danny to drive him. The thief’s blue banged up Jeep was not up to the standards for the high profile event.

“No need, dude, I've got Derek. Plus, it's only Jackson.” There was a reason Danny and Stiles were the ones to carry out the heists while Jackson kept to the business side of their operation - arranging jobs, meeting with clients. “Go on and soak up that warm Hawaiian sun up for me.” 

“No prob, God knows you need it, Fox.” Commenting on Stiles' rather pale skin with a big smile and receiving a middle finger in response. The thief may have shed the infamy of his accident prone nature he was known for as a young teen but his fair tone would forever be his trademark. 

“Do me one last favor and give Jackson a firm kick in the ass for me.”

“Will do.” Stiles was seriously considering delivering more than a kick. Stiles would have liked to have his friend providing a supportive ear but the event had a strict no phones allowed rule. Their earpieces were small but not discreet enough to avoid being detected by security.

Stiles does his best to strut confidently, feeling anything but, towards Derek when he spots the finely tailored man waiting for him. He drinks in the statuesque form of the werewolf with discretion, appreciating the view and hoping to look like believable date for the stunning man. 

“A red bowtie, really?” The greeting doesn’t exactly raise Stiles’ confidence level, but he notices the tone isn’t malicious or disapproving.

“I wouldn't be Crimson Fox without some red.” Stiles says as the adjusts the accessory with panache. “And you should talk, do you wear anything other than black?”

“The shirt is dark gray.” Derek says matter-of-factly, adjusting his charcoal suit jacket with the same flair.

“The fact you think you're making a valid point terrifies me more than the wolf thing.” Stiles says as he passes Derek to the well dressed security guards inspecting guests in front of the Beacon City Center, a crowning jewel set in the center of the city.

Stiles notices Derek’s tense posture as they move closer to the door and leans in close. 

“Unclench yourself, dude. I don't carry guns, never could stand them.” 

The werewolf visibly loosened from Stiles’ assurance. In hastiness of the situation, Derek had forgotten to tell Stiles about the security check. The werewolf was fearful that the thief had an arsenal of gadgets like on the roof. Or worse - a weapon.

“Derek Hale, and this is my plus one for the evening.” Falls out of Derek’s mouth smoothly with practiced ease when he is asked for his name to gain entry into the exclusive event. 

“Sir, what is this?” One of the bouncers interrogated, patting on a pocket of Stiles’ pants.

“Sorry, you are a handsome guy feeling me up, what’d ya expect?” Stiles winked as Derek rolled his eyes and stifled a groan. The bouncer stood silent and unimpressed, most likely not the first time during the night someone has made a similar joke. Stiles pulled the object in question out of his pocket to present. “Just a flashlight.” Shining the object, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, in the squinting guard’s face for proof. 

“Please put that away, sir. You are free to step inside. Enjoy your evening.” The guard said as he moved on to another guest awaiting inspection and entrance.

“I’m guessing that’s not just a flashlight.” Derek tipped close as he commented, Stiles pantomimed zipping his lips as an answer.

 

Barely in the open hall leading to the festivities, Derek’s name is called to his right by a man with a camera strapped around his neck. 

“Did I hear right that you have a date for the evening?” Not bothering to let Derek answer the rhetorical question, the camera man introduces himself, “Matt Daehler for the Beacon Press. Can I get a quick picture?” Once again steamrolling over his own question, the photographer starts snapping multiple shots. 

Derek places a guiding hand around Stiles’ hips to pose them in a flattering position for the camera. The two were cozied close together as Stiles made a brazen effort to follow Derek’s lead and draped an possessive arm over the chest of his companion for the night, who squeezed them closer together in response. 

“Great shots. Can I get a name of your handsome date?” Matt, the photographer, replaced the camera in his hands for a notepad. 

“Stiles Stilinski.” Derek provides.

As Matt began to scrawl the information down, Stiles waved his hands over the pad in disapproval. “You do not have my consent to use my name.” Stiles snatches the notepad paper, drawing the attention of bypassers heading in the ballroom. Derek apologizes to Matt and drags Stiles away with his hand still gripping Stiles’ hip from the photo op, quickly leaving before security takes notice.

“Hey, names to the press is a big no-no in my line of business. Why do you think I use codenames? I'd like to stay anonymous thank you.” Stiles whispers fiercely.

“It’s a small blurb in the local paper that will be forgotten as soon as it’s read. Besides, I usually have someone different on my arm every event. No one is keeping up.”

“Bit of playboy, huh?” Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs in a joking gesture -- maybe hitting a little harder than necessary if the thief was being honest. It’s not like he had a right to be jealous, which he isn’t, after his final farewell with Jackson. A farewell that caused him to be at this event, he thought with self-deprecation.

Stiles and Derek about to enter the threshold of the ballroom when Stiles plants his heels to the floor to halt the pair’s progress asking for a brief pause before heading in.

“You reek of anxiety, Stiles.” Derek observes.

“You can smell that?” The surprising fact momentarily breaks Stiles’ self induced worry.

“I can. What gives, is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Stiles walks forward to avoid any act of closer questioning on Derek’s part.

 

The ballroom they enter has a minimalistic look of blues, blacks, and whites. The countertops at the two open bars, placed on opposite sides of the room are a black marble with a dark shade of blue glowing around the edges and the stools are white, matching the lower bottom of the bar. The largest collection of people are centered in the middle of the room on a checkered dance floor overlooked by a large screen display various images of the accomplishments made by the honorees of the night. One additional floor above acts as a balcony populated by lounge seats and intimate table settings for two to three people.

Stiles had shown the werewolf a picture of the man they were in search of back at the thief’s home once Derek promised no harm would come to his friend, begrudgingly still considered as a friend.

“Jackson never arrives to a party on time. So, we should have time to stake out the place and look for somewhere he won’t notice us...or me specifically. With the size of this place it’s best to split up.” 

Derek gives an understanding nod, sets a time limit and a rendezvous point then moves at an easy pace around the expansive room holding hundreds of people on the two floors. Stiles watched the werewolf walk away, purely to study the man’s gait to blend in more fittingly. At least that is the story he told himself.

 

By the time goes to meet back up with Derek, Stiles has an idea of the layout of this place, the security activities, and best possible exits. His findings weren’t as thoroughly assessed as he would’ve been comfortable with but time wasn’t on his side which meant he had to be fast and sloppy. He was ready to share his report with Derek - the small crowd surrounding Derek, however, had things they wanted to share with the werewolf. 

 

“Mr. Hale, in just a few short months you’ve already proven that we made the right decision selling to your company. My sincerest gratitude, sir, for all of your hard work.” The enthusiastic mustachioed man gushed as he shook Derek’s hand with hero worship evident on his face. 

“Yes, it’s been years since we merged with Hale Enterprises and I still can’t believe how our profits have tripled.” A bespectacled woman concurs.

“Well, I can’t take all of the credits have a great team backed by great partners such as yours.” Derek says with a benevolent tone. 

Stiles gazes deep in thought at how Derek manages to keep his double life so well hidden. Stiles had only a few people in his personal life that he needed to be kept in the dark. His dad, Scott, and Scott’s mom. Not even close to Derek’s scope of being a public figure, a highly regarded one to boot.

“And modest, too.” The bespectacled woman adds, seemingly reading Stiles’ mind. “How are you still single, Mr. Hale? If you want, I have a two kids looking for love.” Stiles took the change in topic to step out of the shadows and sidled by Derek to introduce himself into the conversation. 

“Ah, this is my date tonight. Mister…” Derek stopped himself to respect Stiles’ wish to remain anonymous.

“Theodore Aferny Kreznik. The third. As in the youngest of the famous Kreznik triplets.” Stiles made a over exaggerated bow as Derek nearly had a stroke to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us, the Krezniks?” Stiles pauses as he looks around at the crowd of stumped faces, including a bemused Derek. “No? We’re a family of authors with a very niche audience writing erotic romance about...liches. Not the fruit. Corpses.”

“You mean like zombies?” The mustachioed man inquires. “No, that’s a general misconception. The liches in our series have decomposing bodies like zombies, yes. But they are actually souls wait listed for a spot in heaven and are completely cognitive. You know, when there’s no room in hell, well in this case - heaven, the dead shall walk the earth. And search for love.”

The group nods and stares at Stiles in contemplation while he struggles to keep from snickering, unable to verify the story due to the restriction of phones at the event. 

“So, is it decomposing bodies having...relations with each other? Or with living humans?” Derek saves Stiles, or himself, by politely excusing them and extending another polite gratitude for their continued services. The mustachioed man tries giving Stiles his name for a copy.

The thief hijacks the direction he’s being dragged by Derek to a pair of stools by the bar hidden behind a large pillar with a good vantage to see any new arrivals coming through the entrance.

“I knew a guy with facial hair like that couldn’t be quite right in the head, dude.”

“Stiles, what the hell was that?  A corpse romance novelist?” Derek places his hands on his hips as he glares at Stiles, who is currently preoccupied by the serving trays sitting tauntingly in front of him. “All you had to do was give them a name. I'm not sure what I expected from someone who used ‘Beau Linski’ as an alias.”

Stiles wears an amused expression on his face despite the sour look of his companion. “Right, right. Remind me again who fell for that alias.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Hey, it’s Theodore. Mr Kresnik, if you’re nasty.” Stiles smiles at his own dated reference. Derek couldn’t help but think how is this the guy who broke through his security defenses.

“Yeah, I’ll admit I may have tried a little hard. I’m used to sticking to the background.” Stiles sniffs an odd looking, brightly colored ball of food. “It’s not like they’ll remember me. I’m just one in a long line of many you parade around, right?” Instead of a small bite to test the appetizer, Stiles shoves the whole ball in his mouth and chomps down, living life on the edge.

“Are you by any chance jealous?” Stiles scoffs as an answer, accidently spewing bits of crumbs from his lips.

“I’m not.” He answers, wiping at his chin.

“ **If** you were,” Derek appeases, “you don’t need to be. The people I bring out on dates are just for appearances. Need to keep up the ‘playboy’ appearance to throw off any...” He looks around for any eavesdroppers, “suspicions.” 

“Didja sleep wiff any ov ‘em?” The thief’s words muffled by a full mouth of food, unimpressed with the mystery appetizer he took a chance on.

“Well, I’m still human...partially. Keeping up a one night kind of lifestyle makes me look normal, without…”

“Anyone getting too close and finding out your secret? Yeah, I get that.” Stiles chuckles, more so to himself understanding the burden of living a double life. 

“Yeah,” Derek says softly, placing his hands in his pockets. He never thought he’d feel such camaraderie with the thief. 

The guests have been trickling in slowly for the past half hour making it easy to spot any newcomers. Stiles after scans the people entering at the door, he returns to the tray and samples another treat. “Holy mother of God!” Stiles exclaims finding the square brown treat to be astounding. Derek reaches out to try one but is promptly slapped on the hand for his action. “Sorry, bud. All of these are heading straight for my mouth.” And pops another one in his mouth, making a mental note to find out what it was.

Derek leans in close to Stiles’ ear and whispers huskily. “Only if you promise I can head straight for your mouth later.” Stiles chokes at the entendre and Derek takes the opportunity to nab a treat out of the clutches of his partner for the night, humming pleasantly at the taste and the reaction. Stiles glared with no real heat at Derek’s downright devious tactic.

 

As the night continues, there is still no sight of Jackson or the Argents. To pass the time Stiles pigs out on the appetizers at the party while playing a game with Derek where he tries to guess, wrongly every time, about who at the party is a werewolf. 

“Stiles, you're about to get a large payday. Calm down on the food.” Derek says exasperatedly, tired of seeing the thief munch effortlessly on tray after tray of treats. 

“Hey, free food is my kind of food.” 

“Go easy on the appetizers.” Derek repeats.

“Why don't you go easy on the champagne, big guy, we're on the clock.” Stiles waves a hand at the couple of empty bottles Derek finished by himself. “I don’t need you sloshing all over the place once Jackson is here.” 

“Werewolves can’t get drunk. Not on normal alcohol, anyway.” 

“Like you need 400% proof rum or something to gain a buzz?”

“Not exactly. A small dose of wolfsbane in the drink to lower your supernatural defenses.”

“Huh. Very interesting, I know a fun way to celebrate once we’re done here.” 

Stiles eyes leave Derek’s hopeful look when he sees the handlebar mustachioed man was coming back with a plaid covered friend in tow, the weirdo probably wanted the name of the book series or tips for romancing the dead.

“This is the man I was telling you about. Mr Kreznik, could you go into more detail about the book series you're known for.” 

“I'd love to but I promised Derek a dance...or three.”

“Any plans on what you'll tell them when we're done dancing?” Derek was amused at Stiles’ elaborate, over the top backstory coming back to bite him.

“I’ll try to worry about as I figure out how to dance without making an ass of myself.”

“You mean more of an ass. Give me your hand, place your other on my shoulder, and follow my lead.” Derek instructed as they joined the other couple enjoying the easy atmosphere.

Stiles felt flushed and embarrassed on the dance floor as the couple began to sway tentatively, easing the thief in the unfamiliar ways of slow dancing. 

“I usually disguise myself as...invisible people, you know - janitors, guards, waiters. People who aren't too noticeable. I'm not used to being out in the open like this. It was why I was nervous when we first entered.” Stiles explained.

“Well, I noticed you in the lobby.” Throwing a wrench in Stiles’ logic.

“Yeah, I noticed you noticing me when I was...noticing you. Ugh, I’m gonna shut up now and focus on not stepping on your feet if you don’t mind.”

Derek smiles warmly at Stiles’ awkwardness. “You’re more like the guy I met in the lobby than the one on the roof.”

“That a bad thing? Prefer me as the flirty, hands on guy?” Stiles circles his arms around Derek’s neck, feeling more confident in his footwork. 

Derek inches closer as they continue moving to the music in sync, staring into honey colored eyes. He can feel warm breath tickling his freshly licked lips as Stiles leans his mouth closer to Derek’s at an unrushed pace. A wandering hand creeps down Stiles’ spine to the ass taunting Derek all night. Expecting to feel the firm, suppleness from the night before Derek comes across something different. 

“I don't recall you having a wallet during the security check...or a bracelet.” 

Stiles tilts to the side, close to Derek’s ear. “Oops, how did that get there?” The thief was surrounded by the elite residents of Beacon City, could he really be blamed for pilfering a pocket or two.

Derek wondered which was the real Stiles - the hooded thief who flirted unabashedly or the self conscious guy afraid to dance in public; if they were even indistinguishable from the other. “You’re giving it back as soon as we’re done.” He instructed firmly, expanding the closed space between them and placing his hands to a tamer location above Stiles’ waist.

“You're such a sour...wolf.” Stiles says sullenly, pouting his lip, but nonetheless enjoying the company. 

“This whole dancing thing ain’t half bad, big guy. You could've used those talented feet when you fell off the ledge last night.” Derek squeezes his hand as retaliation for the insensitive remark. “Ah! It was a joke, big guy.”

“An unfunny joke.”

“Too soon?”

“Too soon.” Derek confirms. “Stiles, have you been paying attention to the door? 

“Shit. I may have had my eyes on something else.” His burns at the implication that he was too lost on Derek to focus on the task at hand. “I-uh, I-It's kinda hard to look out for Jackson and keep my eyes on my feet, dude.”

Derek twirls Stiles around to have Stiles' back against his front. “Better?” The new position allows Stiles the luxury of not worrying about crushing the werewolf’s toes by accident but now a new problem arises.

“Not really, now everyone thinks I'm the girl in the dance.” 

Stiles’ eyes begin to drift close as the comfort of Derek's heat in close proximity begins to take its toll. He was amazed how much more intimate and enticing this felt than the sex he had with Jackson earlier. There was nothing overtly sexual about their simple swaying of bodies, but feeling Derek - his heart beat on his back, arms entwining his mid section, and the stubble on his neck - caused a stirring in Stiles. 

“Stiles.” Derek whispers huskily in Stiles' ear canal, sending spikes of arousal straight to his crotch. 

“Yes, Derek.” In that moment, Stiles felt he could answer yes to almost anything Derek asked.

“Do you see him yet?” 

Having the bubble burst Stiles created in his lust filled mind allowed him to resume his objective. “Wha..oh um no not yet. Try the west.” 

Stiles spins back to face Derek, keeping his back to Jackson to cloak his presence at the party. ”Behind me, sitting at the lounge up top. I don't think he saw me.”

“Who’s the blonde girl he’s with?” Stiles didn't recall seeing a woman with Jackson, but it was a quick glance. 

“Is that one of the Argents? Are they saying anything?”

“No, I don’t recognize her. Wait, I think I heard your friend yell about someone being late.”

“Okay, good. So you ready to get your list back?”

\---***---

Stiles watches from afar as Jackson sits carefree on the lounge with the blonde Derek mentioned, talking in close proximity. The thief’s mouth drops open when he gets a good look at Jackson’s date for the night. “Oh hell no.” The thief whispers with anger. “Stealing from me is one thing but hiring Erica Reyes…”

“Do we need to be worried?” Derek asks.

Stiles sees Erica in dress pants causing concern to flash on his face. “She's prepared for a fight. But we the advantage of a big, bad wolf on our team.”

 

“Stiles, how did you get here?” Jackson rises from his seat along with Erica, both shocked to see him at the party.

“Hi, we apparently haven't met before. Stiles Stilinski, master thief nice to meet you. Actually, if anyone asks it's Theodore Kreznik,” ignoring the confused look from Jackson, Stiles continues. “This is strapping fellow here is my new friend, Derek Hale. You know, the guy you stole from. Technically you stole from me and I stole from him but when you stole from me that became you stealing from him in essence.”

“Stiles, I only...” Jackson’s justification was cut off.

“Don't bother, Jackson...” Stiles shakes his head in irritation, seeing Jackson resurfaced his feelings of betrayal. 

“Wait, you're Derek Hale of Hale Enterprises?” Receiving an affirmation, Erica turns the table on Jackson unexpectedly. “Sorry, Jackson there are very few people I have limits on stealing from...and this man is one of them.”

“Un-fucking-believable. Do you have everyone under your thumb?” The rhetorical question directed at Derek.

Erica steps away from Jackson, both her spot and their arrangement, to stand in front of Derek. “Mr. Hale, I'd like to apologize -- I was only signed on at the last minute as backup. Thank you, my friends owe their lives to you.”

Derek nods respectfully and shakes Erica's hand. 

“Erica, you're a…” Stiles shifts his brows up. He takes Erica's shrug as an answer, leaving Jackson out of the know. “I knew no one could survive a drop or scale a wall like that. And I still beat your ass!” Stiles pats Derek's chest with the back of his hand, grinning with self satisfaction - trying to relay his achievement of, not once but twice, outwitting supernaturally enhanced creatures. 

Erica rolls her eyes. “I believe you only have the advantage of 3 to my 2. So don't get too smug. Do you need any assistance here?” Erica directed her question to Derek Hale. 

Derek looked to Stiles for a confirmation and answered. “No, we have this handled now. Thank you, Miss Reyes.”

“Please, it's Erica.” She purred as she stroked down Derek's tailored bicep. “You still owe me a rematch, Fox. And now I know you're name.” She singsongs teasingly while striding away, “Catch you later, Stiles.”

Stiles wiggles the fingers of his extended hand waiting for the USB, his tone icy. “Today, Jackson, while I’m still in a nice mood.”  Jackson takes his time assessing Derek and quickly squashes any plan to try and run, his odds were grossly unfair. “I can't believe you Jackson.” 

“What did you always say, Stiles?  _ What’s yours is mine _ .” Jackson shrugs. “Just following your lead.”

“Yeah, because I always lied and stole...used…”Stiles clenched his jaw in anger, “my friends.”

“No honor among thieves, right.” Jackson quipped.

“We were more than a group of thieves. I thought you knew that.” Jackson stares at the dance floor to avoid the disappointment and hurt on Stiles' face. Handing the device and its contents back to the rightful owner. 

“We also need the Argents’ contact info to track them down. And don’t worry about them finding out, I’m sure the big guy here has plans for them.”

 

“I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get to show you what my flashlight really does.” Stiles jokingly griped as the two travelled down the stairs ready to exit.

“You always use it on yourself, if you’re that upset over the missed opportunity.” Derek retorts, sending a small smirk in Stiles’ direction.

“Stiles, watch out!” Jackson yells, bent over the balcony railing. 

Stiles and Derek turn to see two men rushing towards them body checking any unlucky person in their path. Suddenly, guns were focused on the thief and werewolf. “Me and my stupid big mouth.” 

“Stiles!” Derek shoved him out of the way of the incoming shots fired, a gun wound sent the werewolf to the floor. Panic on the dance floor erupted and sent the evening's guests scattering wildly and screaming in terror. Derek was clutching at his shoulder unable to see the gunmen or a ridiculous red bowtie with the pandemonium going on. In his quest to find Stiles, Derek hadn’t seen Jackson coming beside him as supportive crutch to lean, the two scurrying away cloaked by the crowd. 

“What about Stiles?” Turning his head around as he limped forward clutching his shoulder, Derek saw Stiles sneaking behind the armed men and quickly take them out with a blue electric burst from his flashlight. The armed men convulsed in pain, incapacitated on what used to be the dance floor. Stiles ran forward and  joined Jackson and Derek, easier to spot with the thinning herd of party goers, to help move them escape the danger more speedily. 

Outside of the event the glamorously dressed guests, who expected a night of carefree fun, were running in terror. Once the trio are out of harm’s way on the street, Jackson offers his car to reach safety.

Derek protested with labored breathing. “No...we need to take...my car.”

“Derek, now’s not the time to be picky about a getaway car.” Stiles argued.

“I need...the bullet was laced with something...my car has what I need.”

“Please tell me you parked close by.” Derek nods down the street.

As Stiles digs in Derek’s pocket for the keys when they get to the vehicle. “Stiles, I didn't mean…” 

“I know. Go, get to somewhere safe.” Jackson nodded and ran off. “Alright, just me and you, buddy. Derek?” Stiles looks at the closed eyes and ghostly skin of the man cradled between him and the car, looking worse by the minute. Stiles tries again to acquire a response from the werewolf to no effect. “Derek!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Stiles' dumb alias I didn't know what to do so I hit the random button on tvtropes.org and was given 'our liches are different' and thus his ridiculous backstory was born.


	3. Are you satisfied with your care?

Once Stiles confirms Derek has a pulse, he ascertains that Derek went into shock causing the werewolf to pass out and quickly stuffs him into the car. The werewolf feels hot and clammy to the touch with a black goo substance seeping from the side of his lips. A string of reassurances falls out of Stiles’ mouth hoping they would get through to the unconscious man and to calm himself down too. 

“You’re gonna be okay. Everything will be fine. Hold on. Please. Please, don't die Derek ” He repeats the phrases so often that it doesn't stop until his throat was coarse and dry.

The drive is a frantic mess for Stiles, a continuous mix of side glances to see if Derek was still breathing and speeding through the streets as he headed to his destination. He needs help for Derek and he needs it fast. Because of the unique circumstances of Derek's situation the hospital was a no go. They will report the gunshot wounds to the police and Derek won’t be able to explain his healing factor once the bullet is removed. As much as he hated to do this, there was only one destination he can go to that won't risk Derek's secret. It also means that it reveals Stiles', but it is a sacrifice he was willing to make to save the werewolf.

By the time Stiles is where he needs to be, Derek is soaked in blood and black goo, both of which never stopped spilling from the injured man since the incident.

Stiles slams more than knocks on the door of his buddy, Scott McCall, as he struggles to maintain his leverage on Derek and hold the contents Derek had mentioned before succumbing to his wounds. Derek is somewhat conscious, able to move his feet as Stiles dragged him from the car to the apartment building of his best friend. Stiles had thought the werewolf was doing better with Derek's motor functions returning but when the thief touched Derek to help out of the vehicle he could feel the normally heated werewolf’s skin cool to the touch and disturbingly pale. After another hard pound, the door finally opens.

“Hey, Scott. How ya doin’? Good? That’s great. Me? Not so much. I’ve got a bloodied werewolf with me that is really heavy and needs some bullets removed. And yes, I said werewolf. Now can you help me out, buddy? Fantastic. Derek, this is Scott. Scott, Derek. Super, everyone’s all acquainted.” Stiles speeds through his explanation for being there to a bleary eyed, half naked Scott McCall. Scott, so used to late night emergency patch ups from Stiles, side steps to allow entry and closes the door with no alarm or discord. Stiles settles Derek in the bathroom on the closed toilet seat after nearly causing a splash down when he didn't check to see if it was closed. 

“I think I musta loss too much blood because I think I heard you tell some guy I’ve never met before that I’m a werewolf.” Derek croaks out, weakly bringing an arm from his uninjured side to his face to wipe the dried black substance. 

Stiles coughs out a shocked laugh, feeling overwhelming relief and shock that Derek was conscious enough to speak. “You did lose too much blood, my furry friend, and you are correct - I did tell my best friend that you are indeed a howling creature of the night. Ya know, I’ve never heard you howl...do you howl?” Stiles rambles. He rolls a hefty amount of toilet paper and helps Derek wipe the remnants of the inky fluid. Stiles wonders if the reason Derek was so completely out of it was to reserve his strength.

“Stick around for when the bullets get removed and you might.” Derek squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the wolfsbane travelling in his system. “Is he coming back?”

 

Scott answers Derek’s question by entering the bathroom fully clothed and equipped with a large medical bag. “So, werewolves, huh? I had a lot of guesses on why you needed to keep coming to me for help.” He bends down after retrieving his scissors to remove Derek’s stained upper garments for clear access to the wounds. “Fight club, rodeo clown, a secret agent, or like a customer service clerk or sumthin’.”

“Um, why would you think that last one?” Stiles has to ask with his curiosity getting the better of him. Or just the need for some semblance of normalcy in the crisis at hand, a small distraction from Derek's dire condition. He could always count on Scott to be his rock even when he couldn’t disclose his extracurricular activities to him. 

“Well, you know how you get once that mouth gets started. You never had much self preservation when it came to antagonizing people. I can’t imagine you being the grin and bear it type.” Scott is meticulous with his careful inspection of Derek as he carries a conversation with Stiles. Two bullets holes are in the left side of Derek’s shoulder and chest area, with no exit wounds. There are black veins spreading outwards from the wound, Scott figures an infection spreading. His breathing is fairly normal for his condition removing the need to worry about a collapsed lung. “Are you a werewolf too?”

“No...But, um. Y-you know that red hooded cat burglar in the news?” Stiles takes a deep breath. “Well, you do know him...me.” 

Scott only has time to blink owlishly at Stiles after the reveal, Derek interrupts with dark sludge being puked out into the sink beside him. All attention is refocused on the werewolf with soothing pats on the back and small words of reassurance...at least, from Scott.

“Oh God, what the hell is that? You're not dying, right? Don't die, dude. How am I gonna paid if you croak?”

Derek coughing out a wet laugh into the sink with any leftover sick. “Goddamn asshole.”

“Yeah, that's Stiles for you. Okay, I think we need to hurry removing these bullets. Whatever this infection is, it looks like it’s travelling to Derek’s heart.” Derek clenches his jaw, trying to steel himself while Scott disinfects his tools and the wound preparing for the extraction.

“Alright. First, analyze. Disinfect instruments and entry. Proceed the operation with caution and precision.” Scott mutters as he reminds himself of the steps.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” Derek questions.

“Sure, I've performed lots of times. Never on anyone alive though.” Scott admits.

The werewolf fires a heated glare at Stiles, who brought him to an inexperienced...Derek didn’t even know what Scott was in training for. A nurse? Doctor? EMT? Veterinarian? Or, hell, he could’ve taken a single course in medical school and dropped out for all the werewolf knows.

Stiles his crosses his arm defensively under the weight of Derek's stare. “Don’t look at me like that. Scott is in the top 5 of his class. You’re in good hands.”

“I’d be in better hands with the number 1 student in his class.” Derek mumbled.

“I know you’re in pain, so I’ll let that slide.” Scott says, then makes an incision to the congealing area preventing a clear way to the bullet. Derek squirms when Scott begins to dig deep for the bullet. “I know this isn't easy, but I'm gonna need you to be still. I don’t want to nick an artery.”

“Try to focus on something else, Derek.” Stiles advices, staring at Derek’s tightly shut eyelids.

“Like what, those ugly duck shower curtains?” Derek says, twisting his face in pain. Unfortunately, Scott didn’t have anything to relieve Derek’s pain.

“If it helps, fine.” 

“It doesn’t.” Derek yells out a curse when he feels Scott trying to latch on the foreign object in his shoulder. Stiles entwines his warm fingers into Derek's cold hand hoping to help, the werewolf’s eyes open flicking to his hand and to the pair of concerned eyes focused on him from the thief. “That’s not working either.”

“Sorry.” Stiles says slightly dejected and starts to remove his hand.

“Didn't say it wasn't appreciated.” Derek offers what he thinks is small smile but really it looks like he's staring into the sun.

A metal clattering in the porcelain sink grabs Stiles and Derek’s attention away from each other. “One down…” Scott informs.

 

After the final bullet is gone, Derek instructs Scott how to use the kit Stiles brought from the car to dissolve the poisonous effects of the wolfsbane. Even with the threat of the poison spreading further in his body gone, his healing is a slow, gradual progress. Scott didn’t want to leave the gashes open while Derek’s body took it’s time to recover but Derek insisted any stitching was unnecessary and there was no need to worry about a risk of infection. Seeing the lack of blood seeping from the wounds and color returning to Derek’s ghostly face was the assurance Scott needed to leave the two alone with a change of clothes while he put away his medical equipment.

“You mind putting on a shirt.” Derek quirks a brow at Stiles’ request. “Sorry, you're not an unpleasant sight on normal conditions but with the bullet holes and blood...not my cup of tea, man.”

“Excuse me, if my mortal wounds aren't up to your standards.” Pulling on a clean shirt proves to be more difficult than Derek thought it would be. 

Stiles squats away Derek’s stiff moving arms and takes the role of dressing the man. There was a calming wave that washed over Stiles as his fingers brushed along the length of Derek’s arm to the nape of his neck. He could feel the familiar sensation of Derek’s warm temperature from their time on the dance floor. It was the confirmation he didn’t realize he needed to comfortably believe Derek was off of death’s door.

“Hey, uh. Sorry I babbled your secret but I figured he would notice how fast you healed when the bullet came out. Plus, the black pus stuff didn’t help. Derek?”

Derek focuses on the open bathroom door, peering at the empty living room. “Do you have a cat?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, Scott has one that comes and goes. Her name’s Selina. You don't have a problem with cats, do you?”

“Not exactly.” 

“Is it a werewolf thing?”

“No, more of a...me thing. I don’t why but cats love me.” The proof of Derek’s claim is quickly validated with the sudden appearance of a black cat purring happily and circling along Derek’s leg. “Stiles, do you mind giving me a phone? I didn’t bring mine to the party.”

Stiles returns to the bathroom with a smartphone borrowed from Scott since he left his behind as well because of security. Stiles stares at the scene in amusement, thinking nothing else would have surprised him tonight. He was just happy that this particular surprise was nothing more than a cat cuddling up in the lap of a big, anything-but-bad werewolf.

The attention Derek gives the phone in hand allows Stiles the opportunity to view his own clothing at the mirror before changing. He was focused on the state of Derek that his own blood stained clothes came as a mild surprise.

“I just texted someone to pick me up, shouldn’t be too long. And the money is all yours. ” Tasks that were made harder to do than it should’ve been with a cat obsessed with pawing at Derek’s beard. It was a shame his alpha eyes didn’t work on subduing feline creatures.

“Hope you didn't forget to include to pay for the wall you busted. And the clothes you bled on.” Waving a hand to his discarded clothing laying on the floor. 

“That wall had it coming.”

“Wow, Derek, you really gonna blame the victim?”

“And your bowtie was stupid.”

“Bowties are cool, dude.”

How was it they were making dumb jokes and playing with a cat after everything the two had been through in a relatively short amount of time? The companionable silence takes an awkward turn once Stiles realizes now that their business is over he may never see the werewolf again.

Weirdly, it was the moment when Selina was elated from being in the mere presence of Derek to put the pieces together of what Stiles had slowing been learning about the werewolf. He didn’t know why it took a cat nuzzling up to Derek to realize the man was so far out of his league. Stiles might as well be a mermaid gazing at the handsome sea faring prince, wishing to be part of his world. Derek’s duty protect others, the kindness he’s shown to Stiles, the way everyone gushed over him at the gala. Hell, even being able to quote a Disney movie went into the plus column for Stiles.

Stiles wondered with his criminal life behind him, could he be with someone like Derek? Or would someone like Derek even want to be with a former thief?

“So, does that mean we go our separate ways?” Stiles asks, needing an answer to the debate going on in his mind.

“Is that what you want?” It’s hard to gauge how Derek feels about ever seeing Stiles again with the werewolf Derek looking down and stroking Selina to soothe her into a ball nestled snuggly in his lap. It was done mostly to keep the kitty away from his facial hair that surely had bits of animal hair. The non-werewolf kind of animal hair. 

“Well, you did take a bullet -- two bullets, for me. I have to treat you to a round of drinks.” The thief felt a need to make an excuse to see Derek, bracing himself for a possible rejection.

“Don’t feel obligated to pay me back somehow, Stiles.”

“Trust me, obligation is nowhere in sight where you are involved.” Stiles winks. “And, you know, I want to make sure you’re fine. I mean, do you have someone to check up on you - make sure you’re okay?”

“My uncle is in Europe tracking down hunters, relocating werewolves. It's only me.”

“I can come by tomorrow, or later today - I didn’t realize how late it is…” A quick glance at the wall clock shows it’s well past midnight. “If you're okay with that.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“Cool, then it’s a deal - you and me tomorrow, er, later today.”

The sound of a car horn signals the arrival of Derek’s ride and ends his time in Scott McCall’s home.

After thanking Scott for his help and sitting the now sleeping cat on the couch, Derek walks to the front door with Stiles on his trail and stops at the threshold turning back to the thief. “I have to admit I’m kind of disappointed.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip as he tries to figure out what Derek means.

“What I mean is, well, I thought you sealed every deal with a kiss.” 

Stiles cups the side of Derek’s face and bestows a peck on the bearded face. “Hope that was good enough. No offense but you did vomit some pretty rank stuff before.”

“Right, next time then.” Derek exits into hallway, instilling hope in Stiles for the future.

“One last thing before you go, Derek?” Stiles calls out halting the man from leaving. “Do you know what those treats at the party were called?” 

“Good night, Stiles.” 

“Good morning, Derek.”

Stiles closes the door and turns to see Scott leaning on a wall grinning goofily. “You two looked cute together.” 

“You saw that little kiss?”

He waves his phone in front of Stiles. Showing a picture Derek and Stiles, looking cozy and relaxed in each other’s arms, taken by the photographer at the party. “I’ve got you on Google alert.”

Stiles groans to the ceiling. Apparently, his antics with the photographer hadn’t persuaded him to keep Stiles’ name anonymous. “Oh no...do you think my dad is tracking my name too?”

“I dunno, but don't even think about leaving here before you clean up my bathroom. G’night and good luck, there's bleach under the sink.” Scott exits the living room to try and catch some sleep before his busy schedule in a few hours.

“Good morning,” Stiles sullenly mumbles. “You wanna help?” Stiles looks at Selina who stares at him. She decides it's best to leave Stiles with that responsibility and climbs out the window onto the fire escape. “Pfft. Typical - always stepping out instead of chipping in.” Stiles comments before grabbing a mop, bucket, and sponge to begin his custodial duty.

 

*-*-*-*

Stiles begins feeling the day’s events starting to take effect as he trudges through the front door of his apartment. Despite his exhaustion, the thief can sense something wrong with his living space. With an inspectful eye he lands his gaze on a powered up tablet sitting on his coffee table. As soon as he searches the rest of the apartment for any unwelcomed guests, he sits in front of the tablet. The screen is prompted with a message to connect to an awaiting user.

A woman reading papers dressed in a sharp business outfit sitting at a desk pops up with a press of the screen. “Ah, I was wondering when you would make it home. It seems I need your service once again, Mr Fox. And I was told with the right incentive you would be more than willing to assist.” 

“Sorry lady, but you've been misled. I'm officially retired as of today and even if I wasn't...you and I would definitely not be doing business.” 

“I wouldn't be so sure of that before you see my offer.” 

“I’m not buying what you're…” The woman’s face was replaced by an image appearing on the screen. Stiles trains his face to reveal no hint of emotion or response but the quiet washing over the conversation spoke in volumes.

“Should I take your sudden silence as a sign of consideration?” The woman reappeared grinning in delight from the reponse her reveal garnered.

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to take on one last client. What do you need?” 

“We're about to make a beautiful partnership, Mr Fox.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An open ending with a promise for more. Next in series will be "Honor Among Thieves". I have good portion written so it will happen...maybe not lightning fast though. I'd like to work on some other fics, this one took up most of my attention for awhile.
> 
> I hope you're looking forward to the next entry. Thank you for reading!


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